I had just ended a three-year relationship, so I thought it would be a good time to try a yoga class. Of course, I picked one filled with hot women in tight pants drinking out of eco-conscious water bottles. I was down, but I wasn’t dead, so I stopped in on a class one night after work.
Inside the place, a group of attractive thirtysomethings was talking about some recent desert retreat and how much it had balanced them. They were all wearing T-shirts with slogans like “Namaste Till I Die” or “Spiritual Assassin.”
I was in the middle of deciding my balance would be to achieve enough zen to accept people who broadcast their Eastern spirituality via T-shirt when the instructor, Morgan, walked in.
She was incredible: honey blonde hair with a stomach so flat it looked like her... Read more...